


no one actually gets smallpox

by vowelinthug



Series: smallpox [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M, Rimming, erotic bible verses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 05:29:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10678662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vowelinthug/pseuds/vowelinthug
Summary: "short" fic set afterrunning home to you, just pornso i guess i'm just calling this the smallpox verse huh





	no one actually gets smallpox

**Author's Note:**

> PWP

* * *

 

Silver is dragged back to consciousness by a persistent murmur around him. He doesn’t open his eyes right away, letting the voices solidify in his ears.

“--you see the way that line leads right down?”

“Yes. I see it.”

“Unbelievable. And the cut here, the definition --”

“Mmhmm, yes, Thomas, I’ve seen that too.”

“It’s just -- “

“-- unreal, yeah, I _know_. You’ve said.”

“And _you_ agree. Just _look_ , and you can be honest, because I’m also being honest, and I’m including myself here, but I truly don’t know if I’ve ever seen a prettier cock.”

Silver opens his eyes. All he sees at first is the low, crooked wood ceiling of the house’s only bedroom. He’s naked on his back, lying in the house’s only bed, and he’s pretty sure when he’d fallen asleep he’d had the house’s only sheet on top of him, but it seems to have disappeared completely. Thomas and Flint are kneeling beside him. Both of them have managed to put their breeches back on. Thomas is also wearing a nightshirt. Neither of them seem to notice he’s woken up.

“For fuck’s sake,” Silver groans, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Do you have to do this _every_ night?”

“Yes,” says Thomas. “James, love, tell me, because my ability to pick up on social cues has dimmed these last few years. But is it strange that I just want to bite down on his armpit there?”

“Yeah,” says Flint fondly. “Though I’m not exactly an expert in what’s socially acceptable.”

Silver feels fingers trace up his side towards his exposed underarm. He can’t tell who is touching him, but they both hum with appreciation at the way his skin twitches and breath hitches.

He’s only been their lodger, technically, for a few weeks now. At first, they had kept things strictly separate. Thomas had allowed Flint and Silver to discover each other in private, wanting to do everything for the first time without an audience, but they hadn’t wasted any time, and after two weeks of Flint going from one room to another, Thomas had decided for all of them the awkward honeymoon stage was over.

Silver hadn’t had much real conversation with Thomas by that point, mostly making pointed jabs at the other’s virility. But then one day Thomas hadn’t been able to find an appropriate comeback and so he’d just stuck his tongue down Silver’s throat instead. Silver had been unsure about this progression (not that it had been a bad kiss by any means, but more like he disagreed with the person giving it), until he had seen how Flint had been rendered utterly speechless for a full three minutes, his face flushed and eyes glassy like someone had sucked his brains out through his cock. And well. He might not like Thomas still as a person, but the man knew how to get results.

It seems any amount of reservation Thomas had towards his sexuality in London had disappeared completely, along with any sort of political subtleties and loyalty towards the monarchy. Silver is pretty sure the only thing stopping Thomas from fucking Flint in the Boston Common daily is Flint himself.

Which just means he’s extra enthusiastic towards Silver in the bedroom, despite Thomas not liking Silver as a person either. Silver is younger than the two of them, but he didn’t have years of repression and degradation to make up for.

Still, even so. “It’s the middle of the fucking _night_ ,” he moans as the hand on him starts to move downward. He rolls onto his side, trying to inch away.

“ _Excellent_ idea,” Thomas says, pushing onto Silver’s shoulder. He keeps pushing until Silver is finally lying on his belly, Flint having to shift back and make room. “Another perfect view. You know, I’ve never had a head for mathematics, but your arse makes me feel like I should take in the study. There must be some kind of Golden Ratio in the curvature of your rear.”

Silver squints up at Flint. “Does he ever stop?”

Flint smiles down at him, pushing his hair off his face and behind his ear. “Not really. He was relentless before, when he was a rich, pampered idealist. Now that he’s a rebel freedom fighter living in abject poverty, I’m surprised he finds time in the week to sleep.”

“Hush,” says Thomas to Flint, though he’s still, apparently, looking at Silver’s ass, and is in fact now stroking it. “I like to think of our poverty as more noble and perseverant.”

Silver _knows_ what he means, and he knows Thomas has suffered this last decade under terrible conditions, but Silver has spent his whole life going hungry, and there's nothing noble about it, and this is one of the reasons why he just wants to strangle the everloving shit out of Thomas sometimes. He feels an argument coming on, and he’s about to start.

Thomas must sense he’s about to start, too, because he squeezes Silver’s ass lightly and says, “James, would you mind terribly if I were to have a taste?”

Silver scowls, partly because of Thomas and partly because of his own cock, which has begun to harden slightly. “Why are you asking him?” Silver mutters, willing himself not to press back against Thomas. “It’s _my_ arse you’re discussing.”

“Come now, Long,” says Thomas. “We both know _he_ has owned this for quite some time.” He squeezes Silver again.

Silver flushes. “ _Don’t call me that_ ,” he groans again, even as he twitches under Thomas’s hands. When they’d all first fallen into bed together, Thomas refused to keep calling him Mr. Silver, lest it imply any kind of submission, but just calling him Silver didn’t feel right either. And God help either of them if he started calling him _John_. They’d all just avoided it until Thomas walked into the kitchen one morning with a giant smirk and started calling him _Long_ from then on, said it came to him in a dream, and had yet to listen to any of Silver’s protests.

“Can he?” Flint asks quietly, still brushing Silver’s hair back. His eyes are heated, but his tone is wary.

Silver knows he’s asking because it’s up to Silver to decide who touches him, and he loves Flint for knowing that and allowing him that, but he also _hates_ him for it, too. Because now Silver is forced to _agree_ , to say it out loud, to nod his head somewhat desperately and breathe, “Yes. _Yes._ ”

He can feel Thomas’s huff of laughter, but he can feel it at the crease where his ass meets his thigh, and so he just shivers with it. Thomas pushes his legs apart until they’re spread wide, then slides his hands up to his cheeks again. In one motion, he spreads him open and licks a long stripe from the base of his balls to the top his crack.

Silver lets out a long moan, forehead against the bed, gripping the sheet under him. He's already panting hard, like he's been running for miles. Thomas tugs at his hips until Silver's ass is up, cock now full and dragging along the bed. Silver hasn't felt this exposed since a group of men had stood around him, staring at the bones and viscera of his left leg.

“Fuck,” Silver gasps, as Thomas presses a wet kiss on his hole and begins to suck. He grips the bed harder with the effort to keep still. “ _Fuck!_ Fli-- _Captain,_   _oh_.”

Flint is lying beside him in an instant, his whole body pressed against his side, and Silver lets go of the bed to clutch his neck. He looks a lot like how Silver feels, overheated and loose and out of his fucking mind. Flint's hand runs up and down his back, like he's trying to soothe Silver, but instead it just heightens every nerve ending in his body.

He feels Thomas pull back, feels and hears him spit on his open hole before diving back in, pressing down on the tight ring with his tongue without entering. He seems determined to get Silver to succumb to this, and Silver wonders if he and Flint have talked about what he likes, because right now he’s doing _all_ of them.

Silver needs to do _something_ with his mouth, so he kisses Flint. Kind of. They mostly just press their open lips together and pant into each other, occasionally nipping and sucking but neither of them capable of much else. Then, Thomas finally breaches him, the tip of the slick muscle opening him up.

Silver shudders, whine emanating low in his throat. Flint pulls back at the noise, looking down to watch Thomas thrust his tongue in and out of Silver. Flint’s eyes are black and dazed, like _he’s_ the one getting his ass eaten, and he glances back and forth from Silver to Thomas, seemingly torn.

There had been a silent decision made between Silver and Thomas, when they’d finally all come together. They would never force Flint to choose between them. And right now, Silver had asked for Flint to kiss him, but the look on Flint’s face tells Silver all Flint wants to do is _watch_ this happen.

Silver wants him to watch, too.

But he needs something to stopper his mouth, the breathy moans and curses that keep slipping out already too revealing for Silver. He needs _something_ or else he’ll do something unspeakable, like _beg._ Or, God help him, call out Thomas's _name._

That simply is not allowed to happen.

So he clings to Flint's thigh, starts pulling at them until Flint breaks away from the sight of Silver finally grinding his ass down on Thomas’s face.

“Let me suck you,” Silver says, pulling at him still. “I need to, _fuck_ , I need you in my mouth, _please_.”

Flint had already shifted up the bed before Silver had even finished speaking. Silver had discovered that Flint is exceptionally nonverbal in bed, and fantastically compliant -- two utterly un-Flint like behaviors, both due to being completely overwhelmed by pleasure -- and this discovery was equal in both importance and value as to when he’d learned his stolen page held a path to unimaginable treasure.

Flint kneels by Silver’s head, already pushing his pants down his thighs so his cock juts out over the top. Silver has yet to tire at looking at it in any state, but thick and red and leaking is by far his favorite. Silver manages to push himself up on one hand, gripping Flint's cock at the base with the other, and he feels Flint’s moan as tangibly as he feels the heat beneath his palm.

He's about to start when he feels Thomas pull away slightly.

“‘ _And of his fullness have all we received, and grace for grace_ ,’” Thomas says, close enough so his lips brush against Silver’s asscheek. “I believe it was the Book of John who said that, too.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” says Silver, resting his head against Flint’s hip. “Just when I finally found a good _use_ for your mouth.”

Flint laughs, and goddamn it, that sound gets Silver hotter than anything, even more than Thomas’s tongue going back to fucking him. Silver looks up at Flint, unable to keep the adoration he feels off his face, but it’s alright, because he sees the same reflected back at him, and at Thomas. Flint gently fists Silver’s hair, holding it all away from his face as he guides his cock towards Silver’s waiting mouth.

Then Silver is gone, grateful as ever for the hot flesh for silencing him. It’s a lost cause for the rest of him, though, his hips fully working back against the sharp, shallow thrusts of Thomas’s tongue. But the muffled moans escaping around Flint’s cock are far less incriminating than anything he might have accidentally uttered.

But soon he is beyond even thinking such pleas, his mind as focused on Flint’s cock as it always is. He’s learned only recently, nothing helps him forget everything -- all that he’s done, all the trouble, all the hurt -- better than when he has that perfect weight of Flint’s cock thrusting in and out of his mouth. When he has Flint groaning his name, clutching his hair, lifting his head so Flint can stare into his eyes as he fucks Silver’s mouth -- Silver hates to admit it, and he’d never do so out loud, but Thomas is right. It’s grace for grace.

And Thomas _is_ truly skilled with his tongue, perhaps even more so than Silver and Flint. Sure, the two of them have convinced men into battle, into death itself, with naught but a spoken word. But here is Thomas, effortlessly breaking Silver down with his mouth without actually _saying_ anything, making him writhe back on his face without any shred of dignity. Silver is helpless to stop it, and not even really wanting to, at this point. He feels wet and loose and shivery all over, full and used and owned on both ends in a way he’s never felt before. He thinks willingly fighting to the death might be simpler to suggest, because at least _that_ he understands. Because he just doesn’t understand at _all_ how anything could feel this _good_.

He comes all over the bed with Flint heavy down his throat and one of Thomas’s fingers teasing his entrance, the tip gliding alongside his tongue, and he still doesn’t _understand_.

But he’s not thinking about it. He barely even notice when he comes, so concerned with sucking Flint down and getting that taste he longs for. He feels Thomas pull away, still stroking up his thighs, over his ass, along the dimples of his back. It feels encouraging, so he sucks harder, loving the way Flint bends over him, hands still gripped tight in his hair, as he comes down the back of Silver’s throat with a hoarse shout.

He holds Flint in his mouth a moment longer after he’s swallowed everything, wanting to linger here as long as he can before breathing again. Flint slips out of his mouth, and he’s edging away from Silver’s head to give him room to collapse back on the mattress, which he does immediately. He’s still on his stomach, but he turns his head to watch them.

Flint and Thomas kiss over him, and Silver wonders if they’re ever going to stop being so desperate about it. Every time they kiss, they treat it like it might be their last, but it only makes Silver ache because he’s the only one who sees it. But then Silver realizes Flint is kissing Thomas like he’s chasing after the taste of Silver, and the ache goes, and is replaced but a hot heat throughout his body, even as he lies boneless between them.

Flint is working Thomas’s cock in his hand, just the way he likes it, practiced and easy. Silver is still watching their mouths move with each other, so he misses at first when Thomas stiffens in Flint’s arms and comes.

He comes all over Silver’s back.

“Shit,” says Flint, hand slowing down, as though that might stop the thick ropes of come painting Silver’s hips and ass. “Sorry.”

“Yes,” says Thomas breathlessly. “So sorry, Long. Our mistake.” Even as he says it, he starts deliberately rubbing his come into Silver’s skin.

Silver groans, trying to move away from his hands. He remembers how, only moments ago, he’d been perfectly asleep. “When you first told me, Captain, of your Lord Thomas Hamilton, I pictured him to be a sheltered, demure, soft aristocrat. I don’t know why,” he says, rolling onto his back. “All Lords are bastards.”

Thomas hums in agreement. He’s looking down at Silver with something close to fondness, which is -- worrisome. Then he says, “Although. I know you were wondering how to address me, and if you like, I shan’t protest if you desire to call me _Lord_.”

“Ugh,” says Silver, covering his face with his arm again. “All of ‘em, _bastards_.”

Suddenly, a set of teeth bite down gently on his arm pit, and he jumps in surprise. He shifts to see Flint smiling up at him, before he starts nuzzling at the skin there. It feels strange. Silver likes it anyway, and arches into it, drawing Flint’s thigh over his legs.

“Typical,” says Thomas, draping himself over Flint’s back. His fingers idle on Silver’s chest. “I have all the ideas, and he’s the one who gets to carry all of them out.”

Flint lifts up to say, “Only the ones that aren’t socially acceptable,” before burying back in Silver’s arm.

Even with Flint huffing at his tender skin, Silver feels himself drifting off to sleep again. He strokes Flint’s leg as his eyes close, something curling at the edges of his mind. “‘ _The joints of thy thighs are like jewels_ ,’” he murmurs, yawning, “‘ _the work of the hands of a cunning workman_.’”

Beside him, Flint and Thomas both still. Neither of them say anything for a long time. Silver is almost asleep when he hears Thomas say quietly to Flint, “Good God. We really _do_ have a type.”

* * *

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thomas quotes John 1:16  
> silver quotes Song of Solomon 7:1  
> i'll see you all in hell


End file.
